Trying to Forget
by Lady Elena Dawson
Summary: He thought she could pull through. But when Cal witnesses Rose's unexpected death, he must learn to accept the facts of life. If only it were that easy. So he hires Victoria Harrison to do the job - and he confesses the one horrible mistake that he made those two years ago on the Titanic... Cal/OC, with Rose moments in between.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: The fan fiction ideas in my head are just multiplying by the minute! This idea in particular has been on my mind for a while, and I'm planning on making it only a couple of chapters, possibly four****... I'm not the best at creating my own characters, but oh well. And the fact that I've been pulling through writer's block (for I've wanted to write a _Wicked _fan fic for a while, and just posted a long drabble I'm not super proud of) and frantically updating my stories as summer comes to a close... Well, you've got the idea. Enjoy!**

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**Disclaimer: I do not own _Titanic _(1997).**

_**Trying to Forget**_

_**By Lady Elena Dawson**_

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One year. It had been one year since she took her life, right in front of his eyes.

And he still had the nightmares.

In one year his world had come crashing down. But it went back way before then, way before they were married peacefully in Philadelphia in the summer of 1912.

It started with the _Titanic_ and ended with the _Titanic_. Everything he regretted in his life took place in those four days of rage and jealousy. It started with Rose—and with Rose it had come crashing down. It started with a hunch and ended with an impulse.

If only he hadn't reacted so fast.

Then maybe the nightmares would cease to exist.

…

Victoria Harrison had her life full of lessons learned. When she was sixteen, she eloped with a man she thought she loved; she'd always been impatient and snappy; and she'd always been, out of her more judgmental characteristics, unique. It was because of her difference in society that she decided to take up the job as mistress to a very wealthy businessman in the first place.

The first thing she learned of him was not his name, nor why she was needed. No, she was told that there was a man grieving in Pittsburgh, and he needed someone to help him take his mind off of it. When she asked her mother what or who he was mourning, her lips were pursed and eyes unreadable. "He lost his wife from suicide a year ago," she explained crisply and calmly before setting down the notepad in front of her.

Apparently Mrs. Harrison had gotten a call that morning from a man named Nathan Hockley. His son, Caledon (but who everyone called Cal), wasn't dealing well with his wife's death that occurred a year ago. He explained that he needed a woman—preferably young—who would be able to get his mind off what happened.

And of course he found Victoria, the book lover from New York City. Who didn't know who she was? She was only the clumsiest person imaginable, causing quite a scene at every social event she'd been to. Her debut party was so horrific, she couldn't even recount it in her head, much less talk about it, without cringing.

However, she wanted to escape. She was tired of the gossip, of the people, and of her mistakes. So she packed up her bags and left.

Coming upon the Hockley mansion, her violet eyes scanned the elegant architecture of the lush garden with its woven gate. A fountain spouting crystal clear water was positioned in the middle of the curving walk. She couldn't help but stare at the angel statue off to the side with the bouquet of fresh roses in her praying hands. As the butler unloaded her luggage, she strode over to the mourning sculpture, one gloved hand on her floppy hat to prevent it from blowing away.

It was a memorial. Engraved in the stone was someone's name: Rose DeWitt Bukater, 1895 to 1913. Victoria frowned. She was only eighteen-years old, not much older than herself. What gave the young woman reason to succeed in suicide made her shudder.

As for the house itself, it was huge _and _luxurious—not that you could expect any less from a building of its grand size. There was a winding staircase with plush carpet covering the steps; large portraits hung on the extravagant wallpaper; and vases with freshly cut flowers posed on mahogany tables.

However, the pictures on the walls as they headed upstairs were what caught Victoria's eye. They started with old, fuzzy black-and-white photos of men she did not recognize until it finally came upon a wedding picture. There was a man whose portrait had been in the frame previous, beaming; but the woman next to him looked more fake than exhilarated. Her eyes seemed hollow, and her smile forced. Victoria hoped that whoever she will marry, she would not look like that woman did on her wedding day.

"Right this way," the butler, Reginald, said as they came upon a wooden door. Unlocking it, Victoria's eyes became wider than the open door itself.

The bed had elegantly carved posts with a soft red canopy on top. The queen-sized mattress had at least ten pillows, and the comforter was sewed with gold strands. There was a dresser, a vanity, and even a balcony that had a view of the backyard garden.

"This is breathtaking!" she exclaimed, her heels clicking on the marble floor of the terrace. There were endless patches of flowers in all different colors, shrubs snipped into shapes filling out the empty spaces.

"Will these accommodations do?" Reginald asked as he set her valise on the floor.

Victoria beamed. "Of course!" she gaped. But then a more serious matter pressed on her. "When will I meet Mr. Hockley?"

Reginald's strict expression had a sense of sadness in it. "The master would like to see you as soon as you are comfortable."

"Good," Victoria answered as she threw her hat on the bed. "I would like to see him right now."

…

The double doors opened to reveal a marvelous white study that was covered in bookshelves and sofas. A giant desk was placed near the windows with the billowing curtains to top off the magnificent place.

A man in a tailored tuxedo stared out into the garden, his back to the visitor. "Sir, Miss Harrison is here to see you." He stammered like he was going to add something, and finally went with, "If you would like to speak with her."

Cal's head, his hear slicked back with gel and combed stylishly, slowly moved to the side as he nodded. "That will be all, then."

Victoria's comfort wavered as the doors closed behind her, echoing off the walls of the large room. "Mr. Hockley, it's a pleasure—"

"Please, call me Cal," he interrupted, and it was the first time Victoria had ever seen him in person.

He looked like every heir to a large fortune. He had the proper attire, the proper demeanors, and the proper dialect. But it was when she looked into his bottomless eyes that she noticed what made him different from all those rambling airheads.

Anguish. Loss. Grief. That was all she saw in that masculine face of his. Whatever had happened to his wife, he was devastated by it. And it was her job to make him forget—but first, she wanted to find out.

Yet, she hated to pry. This man was _lost_, and he had been for a year. Why make him relive the memories that made him this way in the first place? To make him delve deeper into his depression? Her palms were wet and her throat dry, and she could feel the beads of sweat forming at the edge of her forehead, probably soaking the start of her chestnut colored hair.

"Cal," Victoria choked out as she pushed her struggling thoughts away. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He smiled slightly, but she could tell it wasn't genuine. "No, the pleasure's all mine." He set his icy glass of champagne on the wood desk. "Would you like to have a seat?"

Victoria nodded cautiously; she could sense his discomfort. She strolled over to the plush seats, but a certain arrangement of pictures caught her eye.

She picked one up and stared into the eyes of the same girl she had seen in the wedding picture in the hallway stairs. But there was something different about her expression, something more…content. The woman, with her curly hair in a loose bun and her manicured nails holding an expensive purse, was laughing, her light colored eyes sparkling. But it looked as though she was talking _with_ someone, not just herself.

It was tattered at one edge, giving her the impression that it had been torn in half. She set the picture down without any questions, ignoring the water stain in one corner as best as her curiosity would allow her.

The next photo was of the same woman, but she was linking arms with the man who happened to be standing right in front of her. He had stood next to her when she was too busy studying the battered picture of the young woman. "She was beautiful," Victoria whispered as the woman in the picture gave a slight smile, her eyes holding a hint of desperation that only she could understand.

Cal's face was contorted like he was in pain, but the expression was pushed aside when he started smoothing his hair back to distract himself. "Yes, she was… She was something."

Victoria swallowed the lump of pity in her mouth, her eyes scanning the rest of the pictures. Most of them, unsurprisingly, had the woman—Rose—in them. "I'm sorry about what happened."

He waved his hand and laughed weakly, but his eyes, as usual, gave it away. "It's fine, really. She's gone." He said the last words like they stabbed him in the heart, and Victoria could tell that a memory was hitting him hard in the gut.

…

"_I don't understand why _I _don't have a say in this."_

_Cal sighed as Rose paced the room, strands of her curly red hair escaping the bun she had so frustratingly prodded at all morning. "Rose, I—"_

"_If I'm getting _married_, I should at least _feel _like the bride," she interrupted, her eyes full of trouble._

_He got up from the chair and took her shoulders in his arms. "Rose," he repeated as he looked deep into her blue-green eyes, a grin creeping up his face. "I'll talk to your mother about the plans."_

_Rose responded with a weak smile at the corners of her pink lips. She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but she clamped it shut. "Sometimes… I'm not happy, Cal," she finally said, forcing herself to keep her eyes anywhere but at his face._

_He made no response, for he was too stunned at her words to get anything out but incoherent stutters as she continued packing her things for the voyage they'd be enjoying next week._

…

"Cal, are you all right?" Victoria asked with concern as she shook him out of his reverie.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine," he reassured, but his breathing was a little off, like he was shaken.

"I'm sorry if I scared you…"

"No, no, don't apologize. Really, it's okay."

The room became silent again as Victoria tried to think of a topic that _wouldn't _go back to his deceased wife. But that was all she could think about, and she couldn't stop the next words from spilling out of her mouth like venom. "How'd you two meet?"

Cal's mouth became dry as he opened his cracked lips to reply. "A-at her debut party three years ago," he uttered, looking down at the wedding band on his finger. "She was only sixteen then, and she was still growing… But God, did she look gorgeous."

Victoria smiled. "She must've been quite a spectacle."

…

"_Cal, can you hand me that glass?" His fingers brushed hers as he handed her the flute of champagne, their eyes meeting for a glimpse of a second. And though he saw the melancholy in her irises, he couldn't stop himself from asking for a dance._

_And even though he saw the sadness that was evident in her every action, he still swayed with her. Later on he asked her if she would like to go to dinner sometime—and she responded with hesitant approval._

_Though he saw that moment of uncertainty, he still took her out to dinner. And he did so for the next few months, trying to make his courtship look perfect when he _knew _that something just wasn't right._

…

He forced himself to smile and took a sip of his drink, his eyes focused on the rim of condensation it left behind. "Yes, she was always different from the rest of them."

Victoria couldn't help but frown. This Rose woman who she never knew—and never would know—reminded her a lot like herself. She began to wonder if her life would ever end as tragically as Rose's did.

Reginald interrupted their moment of silence before Victoria could fully ask him what happened, now that she warmed him up. "Dinner is served," he announced, and her eyes were able to catch the water-stained, torn photo in its frame before the double doors slammed shut behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I have this planned out now, and it will be five chapters long. Though it may seem a little boring at first, there is a twist... So bear with me! **

**Enjoy!**

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The dinner was silent, except for the clanks of silverware against porcelain. Victoria couldn't take the still air anymore—she needed answers to her questions. She placed her fork and knife on the plate so that they were pointing at each other; organizing things was a habit she had whenever she was anxious.

"Mr. Hockley, I don't mean to pry," she said, interrupting the silence. "But in order for me to…help you, I need to know the whole story." She didn't even need to be polite; she just went for the straightforward request.

She watched as he took his time setting his finished plate aside and taking a sip of his wine. His face was deathly pale. "Yes, I believe that is needed." He got up from his seat, the scraping of the chair against the floor echoing off the walls. "But not just what happened." He waved her to his study. "No, I will tell you the _whole _story."

Victoria's eyes widened in anticipation as she plopped down on the nearest sofa in the room, her ears intent. He shuffled around mumbling to himself, shifting through his desk drawers until he finally found something. Another picture.

"This was Rose when I first met her," he explained as he handed her the photograph.

Rose had on a dress that nipped at the waist and spilled over on the ground. Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun, a couple of curly strands framing her delicate face. Her skin was flawless, except for the envied beauty mark above her lips, which were bow-shaped and impeccable. However, her eyes deceived her ploy—there was something indecipherable about the way her face remained neutral. "She's stunning," Victoria whispered as his shaky hand retrieved the photo.

"Yes, she had freshly turned sixteen in that picture."

Victoria seemed taken aback. "She was quite young when you started courting her."

He nodded solemnly, a dark thought entering his mind. "I like to imagine that if I waited a couple more years, the events that happened would cease to exist."

She nodded. "Quite understandable." Reginald came up with a pot of tea, and she took a hot sip of it to give him a couple of moments to regain himself. "Please, continue."

"After we officially met at her debut, we went out to dinner frequently." He could still picture Rose the first time he picked her up from her house, gorgeous in a dark green gown. "It was only when she turned seventeen, a year after we met, that I made the proposal."

Victoria stirred the sugar she had added a few minutes ago in her steaming cup, her mind rapidly processing his words. "And she said yes?" She bit her bottom lip. "Did you ever notice that something seemed…wrong?"

Cal swallowed the baseball-sized lump in his throat. "Well, yes, I did notice. But I thought that would disappear once we were engaged." He sighed audibly, the memory of his immaturity haunting him like a plague. "I always misunderstood Rose. I thought she was like every girl, who just wanted to get married and have kids. But it wasn't until we boarded the _Titanic _that I realized just how different she was. She was more…" He searched for the right word. "…complex."

"How so?" Victoria inquired as she dug deeper into his past, into his dead wife's mind and intentions.

"S-she loved art, above all things," he stammered; the thought of Rose always made his body shudder. "And she had very strict opinions on marriage and society."

…

"_How many times do I have to repeat it, Cal?" Rose hissed as tears streamed down her cheeks. "You know me. If you knew me, then you would recall that I don't want to get married until I'm at least old enough to not be so naïve." _

_Cal hated Rose's emotional side sometimes. And today, the most wonderful day in his life when he proposed marriage—something he didn't just do to everyone—to the smartest and most beautiful woman he'd ever met, was not an exception. "Then why did you say yes, Rose?" he sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose to vent some anger. "Why didn't you say you didn't want to marry me?"_

_Rose's bottom lip trembled. "W-well," she stuttered pathetically, "you obviously knew of my father's debt. You must have spoken to my mother or something!" She let out a pitiful cry. "See, I'm clueless right now! For God's sake, I'm only seventeen!" She continued to cry in her hands to muffle her sobs so the dinner party going on wouldn't be able to hear her._

_Though he was furious at her, he didn't like to see her cry. "Rose," he said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Listen, I'm sorry. But do this for your mother, for your future." His words didn't seem to console the woman. "I'll try to make you happy. I promise."_

_Her tears stopped falling and she lifted her, sniffling. "You don't get it," she whispered, shaking her head. "And you never will."_

…

"But if she made it clear about her beliefs, why did you force her into the engagement?" Victoria questioned while trying to shove the boiling anger inside her that was rising. The feminist part of her quickly took over.

Rose's words echoed in his ears. _You don't get it, _she had said to him. _And you never will._ Those exact words were what haunted him every day; maybe, if he had been more considerate and not so selfish, then she would have still been alive.

"I was, uh… That's a good question," he chose to say instead of explaining his immaturity.

Victoria only gazed at her reflection in her teacup. "So you meet Rose when she's sixteen and you ask her to marry you the following year," she clarified.

"Yes, that's pretty much what happened." He downed a shot in one gulp, the pain slowly ebbing away with the alcohol he'd been downing all day.

"And though you've known her for a year, did you ever notice her…uniqueness?" she reiterated the question. She couldn't think of any better way to put it.

Cal sighed, hoping that the deep breath would release some of the weight building up on his shoulders, the guilt that was eating him alive. But all those emotions were still there, surrounding and squeezing his heart. "That's hard to say," he answered, leaning back to get more comfortable. "There was always that weird look in her eyes that I became so used to seeing, it was almost like it was never there." Another sip. "If I had known Rose was so unhappy, I would've done something about it."

For Victoria, this was very hard to place. "It seems like you yourself have…changed a lot since then."

He shook his head, his brown eyes glued to the memorial in the garden. A leaf fell from the tree branch hanging above it, falling to the ground with a soft dance. "I don't think it's that I've changed," he replied. "I think it's more that I…realized what I didn't know before."

Chewing over his words, Victoria decided it was time to take a break from the painful storytelling and relive the livelier memories. "She must have made a big change in your life, then."

His voice was strained. "Yes, very much so." He cleared his throat, reached over to grab a photo propped up in its frame on the table, and stared at it for a few moments. "This is the only picture I have of Rose where she actually has that smile on her face."

Victoria leaned over and realized that it was the frayed, water-stained photograph she was so interested in before. "That's only half of it, isn't it?"

Cal made no attempt to respond. He never gave her question another thought, just continued with his story and ignoring her attempts at pushing aside the bad memories and reliving the good. But he needed this off his chest; every day he woke feeling like he was dying, the sound of the gun going off repeatedly echoing in his ears. "Rose agreed to my proposal, and I planned for a trip back to America for the wedding. I booked tickets on the _Titanic_… Something I would later regret.

"Rose was displeased, as usual. The grandeur of the ship didn't seem to faze her. It wasn't until after the disaster ended that I realized she was thinking entirely of something else…" He trailed off, not knowing how to explain Rose's dilemma. She was more complicated than he had originally thought. He decided to finish with the easiest approach.

"I should have considered Rose's age a little bit more deeply. She was so young, never been in love before… So when it happened, I—" He shut his mouth shut. "It's getting late. Maybe you want to rest for tomorrow."

"No!" Victoria found herself shouting. She bit her lip, still irritated by her unanswered question. If she went to bed now, she wouldn't be able to fall asleep thinking of that picture! "I mean, no. I'm here to help you." She sighed and looked away, gazing at the memorial. "You're hurting, Cal. And I know you want to put this all to rest."

Before Cal could stop himself, there were tears. Tears he hadn't expected on spilling; tears that were suddenly tainting his cheeks, making him look older than he actually was. In the past year he had developed wrinkles on his forehead, for his brow always furrowed at the mention—even at the thought—of his suicidal wife.

He put his head in his hands and let himself sob silently. It wasn't easy, being the man he was; crying was a weakness for anyone. Yet, he held it in for so long… For twelve months he'd drowned his sorrows in nothing but drink… He had lost some weight, now that he thought about it… And it all started with Rose.

_You don't get it_. It was a cry for help._ And you never will._

When he finally regained himself, he couldn't take it anymore. The truth was on the tip of his tongue.

He just had to think of the perfect way to say it.

"I've had enough for tonight," he announced instead, dumping the rest of his drink in the potted plant. "I need some rest if I must tell you the _whole _story like I plan to."

Victoria sat still in her place, her face blanched and eyes wide. "B-but," she stuttered, trying to form words, "I thought…tonight—"

Cal shut her off by peeling his swollen eyes shut. "It's late," he growled, slamming the empty glass on his desk.

Posture bending, Victoria had nothing to do but get up from her spot and leave the room. When she left, she saw Cal staring at that tarnished picture, the one she still unfortunately had to figure out.

…

Victoria was unpacking the last of her things when there came a subtle knock at the door. Cal's head, his hair slightly mussed, poked in through the crack. "Is everything to your liking?"

She smiled politely, though the annoyance was biting at her stomach. "Yes, everything is fine." She finished folding the last of her dresses. Opening her dry lips to say something, she first looked into Cal's eyes to see if it was all right to question him now. "I'm dying to know…," she began, moving her face away as her cheeks flushed.

"And that is?" he held out the word _is_, waiting for her to finish her sentence.

"I-I… I'm just curious, and I want to know… What exactly…_happened _on the _Titanic_…" she stammered nervously, suddenly feeling utterly dumbfounded.

Cal sighed and pushed back his ruffled hair so it laid flat on his head before propping himself up on the vanity chair. Surprisingly, there wasn't a drink in his hand—instead, it was replaced by a flaming cigar, which he quickly unlit by squeezing the stub in the ash tray on the vanity table.

Victoria swallowed what felt like saw dust in her mouth, her eyes pleading as his met hers. "I knew something was terribly wrong that night," he went on to tell. "There was something in the way she stared at nothing that was just screaming for help, but no one would listen—not even me. I pushed it off. I thought she would be able to pull through it all.

"But then she excused herself from dinner. I wanted to go after her, but someone distracted me—I forget who. She ran to the stern of the ship and fed me and the officers the story that she was looking at the propellers when she slipped. But I knew better. It was after that event that I deemed Rose as suicidal.

"Jack Dawson was his name. He was the one who talked Rose out of jumping off the back of the ship; but she tripped, and he pulled her overboard. The officers misunderstood it as abuse. He was a traveling artist from Wisconsin, I learned—Rose couldn't stop talking about him to Trudy, our maid. I became jealous." He scoffed. "Well, enraged is a better term."

Victoria forced a smile on her face, but it was useless. The story was getting somewhere, but she still couldn't make out what tight spot Cal was facing. "So Rose was saved by a man named Jack Dawson?" She looked up at the ceiling, sighing. "What's so wrong about that?"

Cal shrugged and headed towards the door, scuffing his shoe on the carpet. "Not much when I think about it now," he said. A weird cringe appeared on his face when he ended the night with those words: "He was just some boy from steerage."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. School has started early for me this year. I promise the next chapter will get more interesting! This chapter is the ending of the base. Strangely enough, I like writing this for some reason, though I'm not much of a Cal/Rose type of gal...**

The next morning, Victoria skidded into the dining room restlessly. Last night she had tossed and turned, thinking about what Cal had told her on the first day of the job. Even the comfortable, overly populated bed of pillows didn't make a difference. It was much more extravagant than home, and it was just something that she had to get used to. For under no circumstance was she going home—excluding the fact she loathed it there, she wasn't stepping a foot out of this house. She had a mission: And that was to not leave until she knew Cal was healed.

But to her, Cal didn't need a "mistress," as his father had put it. He just needed a friend, someone to talk to—_really _confess to.

"Good morning," she sighed as she plunked down in the chair and scooted closer to the table before rudely digging in to the enormous plate Reginald had placed in front of her. Cal chuckled, and she rolled her eyes playfully.

"My, you sure seem hungry, Victoria," he commented as she wolfed down another bite of scrambled egg. She took a sip of her water and cleared her throat before replying.

"Yes, it was quite a sleepless night," she responded, her attention turning back to her meal once again.

Cal had his hands folded in front of him, his empty plate pushed forward. Instead he snacked on a tall glass of brandy. Strangely, his knuckles were white; Victoria noticed this as she squinted her eyes to examine his pale composure.

He was a little concerned by her lack of rest; after all, who _didn't _sleep well in his accommodations? "Was something bothering you?"

Victoria nodded exuberantly and ignored her inquisitive nature. "Why, yes! I couldn't help but replay what you told me last night, about this Jack Dawson…" She trailed off and looked down at her plate, her fork poking at the last morsel of food on the dish. However comfortable they may ever be, she was still worried about upsetting him.

"Ah, I can relate to that," he said calmly, as though nothing in the least bit was bothering him. "It's not nice to say bad things about the dead, but, you see, Rose was a bother." He sighed and pushed the drained glass aside. "Especially once we boarded the _Titanic_. She always whined or snapped about some comment I made." He chuckled slightly, and Victoria's expression became offended as her feministic side exploded.

"Is something humorous, Caledon?" she spat with wit, clicking her nails on the wooden tabletop. _Didn't women have a say in a relationship too? Or has this world fallen into the grasp of man?_

"It's just, even though she was a raging pistol, I was still able to put that aside," he managed to say after he was done laughing.

"And what about this Dawson fellow?" she pried deeper into his heart, like ripping off a sticky bandage. "How did the fact your fiancée was having an affair affect you?"

Nothing seemed to daunt the wealthy Caledon Hockley, even with her rude, sudden interrogation. He calmly went back to explaining the situation that had occurred two years ago. "Of course I was jealous," he continued. "He was just some gutter rat that my fiancée was trying to sneak around with as a figurative slap on the face."

The two moved to the study again, where Victoria's eyes immediately caught the attention of the tarnished photograph. She wanted to bring it up again, but she decided against it; eventually she'll get the whole story and she could return home or stay here (most likely the latter; she was enjoying herself in the fine establishment), whatever she chose. As long as she did her job and made Cal try to forget what he so regretted – something she had no clue about what it could be.

"After that night where Rose attempted suicide and Jack saved her, I gave Rose something I thought would warm her up a little bit. But, like I said, she wasn't like the others, so she wasn't flattered by the expensive piece of jewelry I got her. In fact, I think she felt more chained than she actually was. It was particularly heavy for her taste."

Victoria bobbed her head in response, processing what he just said. "What did you give her?" She sat down in the same place she had been yesterday.

"A diamond necklace," he replied. "And a _very _priceless one at that. Fifty-six carats. It was called the Heart of the Ocean."

Victoria's eyes widened. "A fifty-six carat _diamond_?" she sputtered. "That must've cost…well, a lot!"

Cal nodded and made no attempt to respond, so she chose to meddle again. Though she had an idea, she brought up the topic anyway. "Cal, forgive me for asking, but why do you think Rose felt trapped?"

He coughed and stared at the edge of the coffee table for a while, deep in thought, before replying, "It was me and her mother. I kept promising her a good life, but she didn't buy it. She didn't love me, and I wouldn't accept her decision to flee."

"She ran away?" Victoria gaped. "Or are you implying that she wanted to?"

"Both," he stated. "She disappeared the whole day after our engagement, and she was found in the woods with some stranger. She was drunk, apparently. That's why I didn't trust her when she wandered the ship with Jack, because I felt bad for the man; she was probably playing with his heart like Rose had unknowingly done to me."

Victoria gulped, even though her mouth was dry as a summer well. "Did she?" she squeaked, a little afraid of asking.

Cal pushed aside her question like he'd done so many times before and continued. "She was basically gone the next day after I deemed her suicidal, probably chatting with Jack. And then he charmed the dinner table that night and took Rose away again to some party in steerage." He sneered, but tried to hide the curl of his lips with a smirk. "I couldn't control myself when I heard this news. I took it out on her the morning the ship was to hit the iceberg, and my message was made clear because she avoided Jack, but…" He hesitated, not sure if he should finish.

"But?" Victoria coaxed.

"But she ignored my finely set rules again. Later that day I found this drawing in my safe of her – _naked_ – and assumed the worst. Then Lovejoy told me that he had chased them down to the lowest deck, and they disappeared. So I hatched a plan through that crazed head of mine. And even after the iceberg hit and everyone was in peril, I still got him locked up for presumably stealing the necklace I gave Rose earlier in the voyage."

Victoria was appalled. "You _framed _an innocent man?" she exclaimed, almost jumping out of her seat. But even she couldn't rant, because she had no idea how _she _would react if she was in his position—especially if a nude drawing was involved.

"Listen to me, Victoria, I don't know what I was thinking," Cal started, his voice cracking near the end. "But that was a stupid decision that I made. For Rose, she…left, and the next time I saw her I was enraged that she had found him…"

She watched pitifully as he broke down again, but she made no attempt to calm him down. "Just finish the story," she whispered soothingly; she didn't want to push him, but she had no choice.

"They disappeared again and I didn't see her until we boarded the rescue ship…"

…

_Cal knew it was Rose when the woman draped in the plaid blanket collapsed on the ground, crying hysterically. "Rose!" he cried, trying to gently pull her back up to her feet; she was causing a scene._

_She shrieked and jumped in surprise. "No, Cal, stop!" she screamed frantically as she tried to squirm away from him. A kindly nurse separated the two and let Rose drape like a worthless, sobbing lump. "I'm sorry, sir, but she was found in critical condition and shouldn't be more stressed than she already is. Now I must tell you to go; we just came out for some fresh air."_

_The two women turned around and walked away, Rose hobbling while leaning on her shoulder. Cal watched, dumbfounded. But he wouldn't let her go that easily, even after what he did._

_The first night he came in to see her, she was fast asleep, shivering from pneumonia and a sweat breaking out on her clammy forehead. The corner of his mouth twitched when she moaned, her eyebrows furrowing in her slumber, "Jack…" _

_He wanted so badly to shake her awake when she started to tremble and kick around, her voice increasing in volume and her cheeks being tainted with fresh tears. But her eyes shot open, and when they focused on him her face paled whiter than it already was. She swallowed the enlarged lump in her throat and turned away from him, whimpering. It was then when the situation hit him hard, and the guilt gulped him up._

_She was discharged the final day of sailing on the sea. And Cal was glad, partially because he missed land, but mostly because he could escape his issues and maybe swarm away his sinful conscience. However, on the day they were set to pull into New York Harbor was the day that he made the decision to talk to Rose for a final time. _

_Cal had pulled Rose aside from the pouring rain and made his proposal. "Rose," he began in a hushed tone, but she kept staring with indecipherable eyes at the Statue of Liberty. She was soaked to the bone and didn't seem to know it. "I know you probably never want to see me again, but _I _need you. If you will forgive me, I-I'll… I'll try to be a Jack for you. Will you marry me when we dock?"_

_She didn't answer, didn't even acknowledge his presence. Soon he became well aware of the moment again, and he couldn't stop talking. "I've been a jerk, Rose, I know. I know because what happened that night made me realize that. And I'll give you more freedom, I promise. Hell, if you marry me I'll let you go find another man if you want… Of course I won't like it, but if it's what you want, I'll make it happen or let you make it yourself."_

_Her gaze melted, and tentatively she turned her attention to Cal. A long sigh escaped her nose. Cal noticed the deep, dark circles under her eyes. Though he didn't want to see it, he couldn't deny that the emotion in Rose's eyes was all his doing. "Cal, you tried to win me over with jewels."_

_He gulped anxiously, though his mouth was parched. "I understand what I did wrong, Rose. I understand completely now what you meant those many months ago… And I've also discovered what you mean to me."_

_She smiled a small smile, but it seemed partially forced. "Money is precious to you, Cal. What will I do with you?"_

_He laughed weakly and shoved his hands in his pockets, not even caring that his hair was being glued down on his head by the profuse rain. "Anything you want."_

_And like that, Rose agreed. As they left the _Carpathia _together with her mother, who was overjoyed to see her daughter—and vowed a new beginning—she was still uncertain whether this "new life" would be worth living. She accepted Cal's meaningful, mature change that day forward, but her happiness was squelched; after all, what was there to live for if her true love was gone?_

…

"And what about Jack?" Victoria piped up, though she was afraid she already knew the answer. With the shake of his head, she knew Jack was dead, just like she had feared.

"She was hysterical when I found her. She kept refusing to let me touch her, and she tried to be as far away as possible from everyone, even the doctor. She was diagnosed with mild hypothermia. Apparently she was pulled from the ocean after the ship had sunk."

Victoria's eyes filled with tears at the sad story. "That must have been awful…," she said, though she couldn't judge because she wasn't there. "Poor Rose…"

"After that, something snapped in her, and she wasn't the same," he concluded, and Victoria could tell he wasn't planning on elaborating more than he already had.

"You aren't telling me something, Cal," she scolded. "Is that _all _that really happened?"

"Why don't you ask me some questions that can really have an affirmative answer first," he returned the retort.

"All right." She sat back and got comfortable. "Why did Rose still marry you after you framed her _lover_?" _Or was she just using him_, she thought, remembering what Cal said about her sudden elope when she was sixteen. "You know what, never mind. This is insane."

Cal's eyebrows rose at her tone. "She was broken," he said clearly, putting his teacup aside. "I think she needed someone—anyone—to pull her back together again."

Victoria, though she had pushed aside the question in her head for a while now, couldn't help but sputter out, "But what about Jack? Do you think she was using him?" He seemed taken aback by her outburst.

The first thing that came to his mind was Rose's smiling, relieved face after jumping out of that lifeboat to be with Jack. The way her arms fell around his neck as he scooped her up into an embrace. The way he held the gun and fired—missed, but still whizzing past their heads as she screamed and bolted with her hand in his.

"I think," Cal said slowly, processing his words, "that he meant more to her than I ever did."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: One chapter left to go! Please R&R!**

* * *

Though Victoria was not forced to sit down and listen to Cal's gashing story, there was something about the way he told it that made her anticipate each day she spent with him. A week into her stay and she was still trying to process each gnawing word that came out of his strangely aged mouth, almost paralyzed into a frown though it had only been a year since her passing. About Jack, about Rose—and about Cal's regretful mistakes.

She couldn't understand _why _she was still at this stranger's house. Was her mother even getting paid for it? It's not like she was using him for pleasure or enjoyment—just so he could raise that heavy burden off the shoulders he was taught to keep straight. He never slouched; he attempted to hide any sign of heartbroken emotion in the words he uttered. Otherwise, society would talk—and that was never a good sign.

_So that's why he's been isolated in here for so long,_ Victoria thought. He was mournfully in pain, so much so that it made her own heart lurch and ping. Since the last time they talked about Rose, he had pleaded to stay away from the subject matter for a little while—and as she waited, she did her homework.

For the past few days now Victoria had been studying Rose. She detected the emotion in her eyes in each photograph she picked up in Cal's study, but she still couldn't identify the tarnished, water-stained picture that was obviously taken without Rose's—and whoever she was standing next to—knowing.

And for some strange, unexplainable reason, Victoria liked that picture. It was a side of Rose that she hadn't seen from the countless number of albums she had flipped through. In fact, just that morning she had found the wedding pictures that were taken on May 15, an exact month from the sinking. At least Cal, she thought, had been a little considerate about the date.

Sighing, she set the mysterious photograph down. She was tired of burning a hole into it so that it reached the other side, only to find nothing but a black, spacious place. She didn't know enough about Rose—no matter how much she thought she did—to know what she was doing and where she was at that exact moment.

As she was searing through it for the last time, however, she noticed something. Though the photo was a stained brown, she could still make out the fuzzy background that she hadn't noticed before. There were bright white clouds, obvious to the eye—but was that…water?

"Been here all morning?"

Victoria gasped and dropped the object in her hand, her heart still pounding from her previous discovery. The thumping in her chest was replaced, though, by a lurching stop that sent her nerves in a wild frenzy, and she put a tremulous hand to her heart to stop herself from vomiting. "Oh, Cal, you scared me!" she exclaimed, her arms and legs trembling.

"I apologize for the intrusion," he sighed, waltzing into the room and picking up the dropped photograph, "but I was looking for you."

She got up and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress, trying to halt her shaking fingers from twitching. "Yes?" Licking her lips, she cleared the dry phlegm from her throat. "What is it?"

He came to a stop in front of the mahogany table that housed all the memories of his dead wife, adjusting the frame just so before answering. "I would like to finish the story," he said, much calmer than Victoria would have been if she was in his situation. "To finally put Rose to rest."

Smiling encouragingly, Victoria nodded. "All right." She took the few needed steps to sit on the sofa. "Whenever you're ready."

…

The story went like this: When Rose had reluctantly agreed to leave the _Carpathia _with Cal, they spent the first exhausting night in New York before leaping on the first train to Philadelphia.

The ride was a short one for Rose, who had nothing else to think about but the past few days and their joyous bliss and horrendous torture. She could never forget what his face had looked like before he had been submerged by the water, never to be seen again… The lights flickering and the water so terribly cold…

Cal had watched from the sidelines Rose's instantaneous facial expressions. Her forehead crinkled in every way imaginable, her lips pursed or tucked into a frown at the corners, very rarely a smile escaping; and her eyes—he could barely look at them. Whenever he did, he felt the guilt, and the flashback of his own experience on the _Titanic _would haunt him.

In fact, he never bore into her shrunken irises after that day, not when they took their vows or even when she asked him for serious answers.

_Do you know what I would have done if you had kept me in your trap?_

There was nothing to say. Rose just couldn't let the past go.

After they reached Philadelphia, Cal watched helplessly as Rose was swooped away under Ruth's joyful wings. He saw with dark eyes as she was poked and prodded at, from the dress to what food was to be served at the reception. It was almost as though Rose had never left her former life.

When asked about the date, Cal went with the easiest math he could do in his head at that moment: May 15. And so the planning continued, and every ounce of free time she had, Rose would ponder and think while staring lifelessly out the window of Cal's study.

The morning of May 15 was a bright one, but only Cal could detect the mourning in Rose's every step as she took his hand and repeated the vows. Only he could hear the mechanical tone of her voice as she said them, unable to look into her eyes.

Those big, blue, grieving eyes.

From that point on Cal wondered why Rose didn't escape when she had the chance to, and why she accepted his proposal. Why didn't she just run away? Isn't that what she wanted to be, an artist? Or was there something Jack had that Cal was never able to offer? He gave her her freedom the second time around; she never took it.

Life for Cal after the wedding was busy yet simple; with the steel company booming, he was hardly around his depressed wife. He wished every day that he knew what she was doing at home, hoping she wasn't eyeing the knife in the kitchen or—what pierced his memory's eye—staring out the window with an unreadable gaze. The thought sucked out his energy, and working after that was just another pointless step in his pointless life.

Yet, he found it surprisingly easy to adjust to married life, if he could even call it that. Every morning he would get up with Rose, who would eat breakfast with him as he tried to pry some words out of her paralyzed mouth which had barely spoken since her vows. A regular conversation would go like this:

"Did you sleep all right?"

"Yes. The bed was comfortable."

"Good."

But he knew she didn't sleep well. He had only woken up a numerous amount of times to the nightmares, of Rose's screams piercing the night air. After she had bolted up right and opened her parched mouth, he would be awake and up and wanting to soothe her, but knowing he could not. Muttering of Jack, freezing water, and cold blood under her breath, he would watch powerlessly as she cried and shook and hyperventilated until she was under the sleeping spell again.

The worst was when she would confront him. It was whenever the days were long or she knew that the _Titanic _was on his mind, for she would be waiting in his study, tears dried on her cheeks, and would say in a voice full of pure bile and hatred:

"Jack said he would take me to Santa Monica."

Cal sighed wearily and set his suitcase down. "Now Rose, darling, whatever for?"

Rose shrugged her shoulders and crossed her arms stiffly across her chest. "I don't know, really. He said we would drink cheap beer and ride the roller coasters until we throw up." The corner of her mouth twitched, almost as though she wanted to smile. "And ride horses right into the surf, one leg on each side."

He fought the urge to laugh mockingly—who ever heard of such a preposterous thing?—but retained himself. "Is that what you want?"

Not even a smile cracked on her lips from his kind words. "Yes," she replied simply. "But there's only one problem."

As much as Cal disliked her cold arguments, he knew that this one was almost over. "And what is that?"

Rose stepped away from the desk without a word until she reached the doorframe, her fingers grazing the soft wood. "He promised he would show me." Her voice seemed strained, and she put the back of her dry hand to her nose. "He promised he would be there."

And like that, before Cal could make a comforting response, she was gone. Sadly, that was similar to how all their conversations ended.

Six months into their marriage, the weather was particularly frigid for Pennsylvania, and Cal excitedly set up the trip that would make Rose's cold composure a little bit warmer; otherwise, his whole household would be covered in snow.

Presenting the idea, however, was a much harder say. "Rose," he brought up the topic a windy December day. "How would you like to go to Santa Monica?"

She had looked up from her book and cocked her head, eyes squinting suspiciously. "What?"

Cal licked his lips as a small smile uncontrollably appeared. "I said, how would you like to go to Santa Monica?"

There was no response. The corner of her eye twitched, and she fidgeted with the page of her book, sitting, forgotten, on her lap. "I—I…" She didn't know what to say.

But what happened next, though, squelched Cal's attempts of ever trying to make her happy. As he opened his mouth to proclaim the rest of the information, Rose had stood up—and made her place in his life very well known.

"I don't work under you," she spat coldly. "I never have, no matter how much you looked at me like a slave before the _Titanic_. I don't want to hear you protest, because I know you were thinking it. It was clear in your gestures and the way you bought me every girl's dreams."

Cal only stood there, dumbfounded and speechless. Her confident, furious composure settled a bit, her shoulders sagging. She shook her head sadly before letting out a short, staccato laugh. "You know, I feel bad for you. You'll never understand what you did wrong. I guess I didn't make it clear enough before."

"Rose," Cal began, raising an index finger to make a point, "listen, I wasn't trying—"

"When will you learn that money doesn't buy you everything?" she interrupted. Unexpected tears flowed from her eyes as she threw her hands to her sides and turning away from him. The next words that came out of her strained mouth were in a shaky whisper. "Why don't you understand that my happiness had died that night with him?"

…

Victoria was simply horrified by the story of Cal's married life. "She was so…unhappy." There was no better way to describe it. "To the point of insanity."

Cal stirred his tea, deep in thought, as he answered, "Yes, it's not like I could ever guess what she was thinking about. She would wake up screaming his name in the middle of the night, and sometimes she'd take to herself alone in the sunroom."

Silence covered the uplifting air as Cal's confessions escaped his throat and mind. "I must say, talking to you, Victoria, has cleared up my mind tremendously." However, as thankful as he was, the way he said it gave away an untold secret.

She smiled slightly. "Cal, I know it's been hard telling me about Rose and her depression, but there's still one thing you haven't clarified." She hated being nosy, but as grand as the house was, it was the overly large grandeur of it that finally made her homesick—though she hated to admit it, she thought as she adjusted herself comfortably on the sofa.

_But there's still one thing you haven't clarified. _He couldn't blame Victoria for prying; after all, she never knew Rose, and to her she was just a character in a story. Of course, Cal knew what she meant by her words.

At that moment, he closed his eyes and relived the memory, the sound of a gunshot echoing throughout his fantasy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Voila! The last chapter has arrived! Thanks to anyone who reviewed; I hope this anticipated ending was unexpected and enjoyed. I apologize if words are repetitive - I usually have time to go back with a thesaurus, but it's late and I wanted to finish this story this weekend. I'll fix up any errors _maybe_ tomorrow. Anyway, tell me what you think! **

* * *

"Of course, it started out like any normal day. What I didn't know was what was going through her mind—and that it was going to destroy her."

"_What would my life be like if he were here right now?"_

_Cal looked up from what he was doing—reading the newspaper, an idiosyncrasy of his that Rose knew of too well. Whenever she caught him catching up with his personal life, all he could see was the contempt in her eyes, as though she was disgusted that she even knew what his interests were. Swallowing the dry lump in his throat, he shuffled the paper, licked his lips, and replied with, "What do you mean?"_

_She had her arms crossed intimidatingly in front of her chest, her right shoulder leaning up against the frame. Her heart-shaped face was framed by loose curls; however, his attention was caught on her eyes. He swore he saw a glimmer of something mad inside them—a twinkle of insanity._

"_You know what I mean." Rose strolled innocently into the study, her finger tracing the mahogany desk adorned with the oh-so-darling pictures of her and Cal. She eyed the water-stained, tattered photo, her hands beginning to shake. Her jaw was tight against her teeth, threatening to chatter. "You know exactly what I mean."_

_Of course Cal knew what she meant. There was only one _he _that she could be talking about. "Jack," he sputtered, adjusting his collar uncomfortably, "is not with us."_

_Rose let out a cold laugh, sending chills down Cal's spine. "He's not with us!" she scoffed. "Such a sympathetic excuse out of this conversation." Without thinking, she violently threw her hands up and shattered the portraits, no longer being able to look into her fake, unreadable eyes staring back at her. _

_Cal just sat there, stunned. He'd tried so hard to keep her from falling into that bottomless pit again; but it looked like his efforts had no effect. "Rose," he whispered, more to himself. He reminisced their wedding day, putting the golden band on her tremulous finger. No one saw it that day, but when he looked up after placing the glamorous piece of jewelry on her hand, her lips were pursed and a lone tear was dripping down her porcelain cheek, the veil shielding her from him. _

_She didn't want him; she didn't want anyone anymore. She just wanted to be alone. But instead he had dragged her into the trap again, locking the bird in its cage for the second time. Every day he remembered that moment, the glistening tear that could only resemble one thing: Mourning. And it was all his fault._

_The room was silent except for Rose's whimpering cries for Jack. For the past couple weeks she had done nothing but bring him up, hoping to get some comfort from her husband, but never receiving any. "I'm sorry," Cal finally choked, wanting to pull her into a hug and stroke her curls but knew he couldn't—not when she had such a grieving, menacing look on her face. _

_Rose stayed in her spot, not moving her legs. Her shoulders shook terribly and she couldn't stop the tears from pouring out of her eyes. "Jack," she uttered, her knees wobbling as she almost collapsed to the ground, but she caught herself on the now-barren table. But her hand wasn't strong enough, and she fell in the broken glass, cutting up her legs._

_Yet, she didn't mind the blood. It was just her blood—when she should have been able to share it with Jack. No matter how much she wanted to be happy with Cal, she longed for Jack's arms; to hear his voice again, and his touch. She knew she belonged to Jack and Jack only, though she had a hard time expressing her gratitude towards Cal for taking her in._

_Alarmed, Cal jumped out of his chair and helped her up, fetching a warm towel to cleanse the tiny cuts dotting her legs. For once in the months that they had been married, she kept her eyes on his until his guilty irises caught hers. "What would my life be like?" she reiterated under her breath, waiting for his answer._

_There was nothing but the silence of a struggling marriage, but Cal eventually spoke up. "You'd be happy," he said, hoping his words satisfied her. _

_To him, there was no better answer._

…

The corners of Victoria's eyes stung as Cal told her of Rose's failing mental health, how she had let Jack's death finally affect her—and go to her head. "Cal, t-that's—" She couldn't even begin to describe the plight "—horrible. I don't even know what to say…"

In all her years, Victoria had thought she'd known suffering. After her elope when she was sixteen, her parents had locked her away in the house for months on end, and for those long days she longed for nothing but to step foot outside and climb the trees in the woods behind her house, climb so no one could find her. Once she was allowed a step out into the park, she saw the man she had so hopelessly fallen in love with—Aaron Daniels, a handsome man of twenty. But even as she ran up to say hi, he did nothing but jeer at her, laughing with his friends as he told her of his newest lady. He'd made a complete and utter fool of her in public, and she had ran home and let her mother decide the men she had to court—disgusting men many years older than her, with obsessions and addictions she didn't even want to begin to describe. The experience of being nothing but a doll left her memories scarred, so she never thought of the past.

But unlike her, Cal was aching—and she was helping him. It brought a wet, tearful sting to her heart as the tears flowed freely from her eyes. She wished he was over with the story; she didn't know if she could hear anymore, especially how she already knew how the tale ended.

"I wanted to give Rose her freedom, but she wouldn't take it liberally," Cal continued, oblivious to Victoria's raging thoughts. "So I hatched a plan for Santa Monica again, but would offer it to her at a better time. Little did I know that there never would be the right moment…

"There were, of course, times when I thought she was getting better, only for her to talk like a lunatic again a few minutes later. She was so out of reality, I would have never thought I would come home to see her holding the gun in her hand… Of her pulling the trigger, screaming nonsensical things that I still remember now…"

Victoria shook her head sadly, sniffling. "W-why would she do that?" She wiped her dripping nose on her glove, as unladylike as it was. Her head was pounding and she was fully confused over the thought of suicide—a selfish, greedy act—that her mind was reeling. "What was her reasoning?"

For a moment, there was nothing but pure, total silence. Cal's eyes became blank, and the next words that came out of her mouth made Victoria want to jump out of her seat.

"I killed him," he confessed, leaving Victoria stunned and chilled to the bone.

"What d-do you m-mean?" she stuttered as her body shook. Her throat was dry, and she fought the urge to run away. The teacup she had poised in her hand made clattering noises on the plate she was holding, and she knew she was ready to scream.

"Victoria, I haven't been completely honest with you," Cal admitted painfully, silent tears falling from his eyes. "It's through my reckless choices that I regret so much of what has happened in my life; the reason why guilt sits in my cold heart every morning I wake up."

For the first time in her life, Victoria listened to the account of a murderer—and through Cal's words, she let herself feel compassion for the mistake he had made two years ago.

…

"_Move!" Jack yelled as he stumbled down the staircase as quickly as he could, his hand gripping that of Cal's young fiancée. Rose let out a scream as Cal took thoughtless aim again and pulled the trigger—this time, missing Rose's head by an inch and sending freezing water splashing in her face._

_Cal watched on with green, envious eyes as Jack jumped into the rising water with Rose's hand safely in his. The more he watched their entwined fingers, the angrier he became, and he shot again, this time whizzing by the couple before slamming into the thick glass window of the dining saloon. "Rose, you get back here!" was what he wanted to yell, but for some reason all he could make was furious grunts as he lifted his tremulous hand, closed one eye, and pointed it at his target—the blond-haired man who so willingly had an affair with his fiancée. _

_When the shot rang out, there was nothing but silence, and he swore he couldn't see anything that was going on in front of. But afterwards, when Cal would play it back in his head, he could see Jack falling into the water, Rose's distraught and horrific face gasping as her hands reached out to clutch his tumbling body. _

_And then, the scream—the kind that makes your skin prickle and your eyes look away with discomfort. It was the cry of a heartbroken, grieving woman with the love of her life dead in her arms._

_Lovejoy had so easily pried the gun out of Cal's stone-like hands before challenging the water and beckoning for Rose to come to the decks, but she refused to leave him there. "No, I won't leave him!" she screamed, though it was hard to make out what she had said because she was shaking so badly. "Jack…"_

_For Cal, everything was in slow motion: Rose stroking Jack's bloodied hair, the water stained a sickening red, as her face was smothered in her tears and wrinkled by her agony. And Lovejoy, finally able to pull her away as he put his arms around her shoulders and coaxed her to the stairs, but for only one time and one time only she was able to break free and run to her lover again, pushing Lovejoy aside and saying that she couldn't just leave him in the rising water to drown._

"_Help me pull him up to the decks!" she begged, taking ahold of his oddly cold hand. However, the pull of the water was too strong, and his body was larger than hers. She grabbed him and was able to move him a few inches, though the water was now nearing her neck. Desperate, she turned around and faced Lovejoy and Cal, and it was hard to look into her face, so distorted were her features for the love she had lost. "Why aren't you doing anything?" She wanted it to be serious, but she had broken down into a fit of tears again, turning back around and tugging helplessly on his shirt, watching as his lips turned blue and the gash on the back of his head was washed away by the guiltless waves._

_Surprisingly enough, Cal, who didn't notice he was holding his breath, managed to take a step forward into the sloshing water. When he reached Rose, he couldn't look her in the eyes, but instead took ahold of Jack's other shoulder and helped her pull him out of the water and onto a dry section on the staircase, her dress and his coattail soaked and dripping._

_Finally, Rose's legs couldn't support her any longer, and she collapsed helplessly beside Jack, clasping his lifeless hand firmly in hers. She wanted so badly for the cold blood to disappear, for them to escape on a lifeboat together and start a brand new life with art and adventure at every turn. But she knew that that wasn't possible, and that her wish was an unrealistic, little girl's dream; she had to say good-bye._

_Closing her eyes, she leaned forward so that her wet eyelashes fluttered over his face. "Good-bye, Jack," she whispered, tenderly caressing his cold cheek before sighing a mournful "I love you" and kissing his blue lips._

_With all the strength she could muster, Rose let Lovejoy help her up and to the decks, repeatedly telling herself to not look back or she'd throw herself over Jack's body and stay with him until it was all over. But she knew that he wouldn't want that, and so she bravely took the first steps towards a new part of her life with a straight back—praying that the jumbled emotions in her heart would just leave her alone._

_As for Cal, he looked at the damage that he had done. The blood that belonged to what he had hours ago called his "forsaken enemy" seeped over the majestic floor. His hands were curled into fists of pure guilt, his mind whirring. "You call yourself a man?" he said through clenched teeth. "You're nothing but a murderous coward."_

_With that, he turned around on his heels and let the water wash away the deed that was so uncleanly on his hands._

…

The response to the story was, lack for a better word, silent. There was nothing for Victoria to say; giving sympathy would be like forgiving the sins that so dirtied his hands. She knew, deep down, that time would forgive him, but the deed was still done—and Cal had never looked so guilty for it.

Smiling sadly, she leaned forward and tenderly grabbed his arm, rubbing it soothingly. The action was unexpected for her as it was to him—was she forgiving a criminal? Whatever the case, she knew that the suffering that was brought with his crime was punishment enough.

She gulped down the solid lump in her throat, built up from the horrific account of the tragic murder. "What about—?"

"The picture?" Cal finished for her. He sighed heavily as he reached for it and held it in his hands, gazing at it lovingly. Strangely enough, he laughed; Victoria remained more confused than she already was. Had he gone senseless?

"What's so funny?" she wanted to huff, but it came out as a calm stream of words.

He shook his head, meanwhile tears pricking his eyes, as he took a scrap out of his pocket. "It was always Jack Dawson."

And just like that, the puzzle was solved—and the whole time in Cal's coat pocket.

Victoria exhaled from the building suspense that plummeted. She rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, her eyes scrutinizing Cal's tearful expression. "You know, Jack really did love her," she said, shocking Cal, "but I wouldn't question if you really did, too."

The grin on his face was contagious, for the relief he felt in his swollen heart was no longer existent. They both chuckled, but their laughs only lasted for a couple of seconds. "It's all I have left of her," he explained, pocketing it. "It's all I have left of her happiness."

...

The day was gray and mournful, just as that night had been. But even with the depressing weather, that didn't stop Cal from making a well-needed trip to his wife's grave. Since his confession that morning, he couldn't stop replaying the sound of the gunshot in his head, of his—no, Jack's—Rose pulling the trigger of the same gun he had used to take away her lover's soul; of her screams as she confessed what had been going through her mind since the day he died, that she wanted to do nothing but shrivel away into emptiness because he was dead.

Victoria assisted Cal as they made the short trip to Rose's grave. She didn't blame him for what he had done, not that it wasn't wrong. But like she'd always done, she didn't think of the past; so she was willing to give Cal Hockley a chance.

She watched as he placed the fresh bouquet aside the majestic statuette, smiling slightly as she saw the stiffness in his shoulders loosen. Bending down, they both sat in front of Rose's resting place, the silence surrounding them light and empty. There were no words left to be said.

He was finally at peace.


End file.
